Haibun Today
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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Editor
Volume 4, Number 2, June 2010


Mark Smith
Keyser, West Virginia, USA

 

That Dying Night

Long back through blood and autumn straw, long back before the awe of branches, long back, long gone the growth, the ghost hung of a holy liturgy when with song, a wild waving of the palms, the blurred yearnings of drinking psalms standing guard holy over hollows’ sacred dark, we far into summer’s wild language went, ears bent on sunset’s humid breath, words to be had in those woods virgin of the human elegy and set on rooted path, thrashing in the dark thickets, scents of our fire’s wafting wisp, we shouldered to a shake, oh, howled down the vowels of that dying night.

sunlight
on the hay bale’s
fraying
twine

 


 

 

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